There once was an Irish fellow with a beard who enjoyed writing fiction. He read a lot of Christopher Buckley and Rob Grant and others and decided that he’d quite fancy having a go at writing something himself. Perhaps, for argument’s sake, say, a not-so-serious satire about modern politics and celebrities and love and the odd serial killer.

Something light, you understand.

When he finished writing it, he did the logical thing, sending it off to agents hoping to catch the eye of one, and hoping that maybe they could sell it to a publisher.

Alas, the agents didst frown upon his humble novel, and sent him letters saying “No thanks” and “Not for us”. They were, to their credit, polite. Some were even kind. He was not embittered or angry, festering in his bedsit about a giant conspiracy in the great publishing houses to deny the world his tales. He understood. They were businesses, and could only use their finite resources on sure things like Jordan or volume two of Geri Halliwell’s autobiography. Dead certs.

His book was not a dead cert.

But still, he thought it was quite good and would really like others to read it.

Fortunately for him, he was living in an age where the letter “e” was placed in front of things and they were transformed magically. eReaders. eBooks. eStonia. Well, maybe not that one, but you get the idea.

It was the age of the Amazon Kindle and eBook reader, and people downloading eBooks. Shortly after that, the nice people at Amazon announced that they would let people like our hero make his novel available directly to the public. So he commissioned a cover designer in Pittsburgh and an eFormatter in Denver (there are a lot of lower case “e”s in this story).

Then a number of very skilled people either edited or ran their eyes over his novel and shared their valued opinions (“Are you paid by the comma?” and “You really like jokes about wee”), and finally, in late June 2011, it was uploaded to Amazon, where you can buy it for the princely sum of 99c. Yes, 99 eurocent. Because he wants people to read it as opposed to retire to an island, put up a sign saying “No Trespassers” and return to nature. Anyone tell me what movie that line is from? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? No? Never mind*.

If you have not got an eReader, you can download (for free) a Kindle reader for your iPad, PC, iPhone or tablet here. It’s easy to download. After all, I did it, and you know what I’m like with technology. The CIA have me on standby just to stand beside Iranian reactors, which will almost certainly cause them to crash.

But enough of that: Here’s the blurb on “The Ministry of Love”, which I hope is a tongue-in-cheek satirical thriller. That’s what I was writing, anyway.

Love. Everyone wants it.

Prime Minister Alexander Fairfax reckons he might just get a second term if he can provide the people with it. Dr. Julian Tredestrian, the most brilliant mind of his generation, reckons he has a plan how to deliver it. International assassin The Stoat (The Jackal was already taken) has been tasked by powerful interests to stop it.

In the middle of all this, Chief Inspector Switzerland has got to catch a serial killer who keeps killing really irritating celebrities.

Love. It always gets a bit messy.

You can purchase the eBook here on Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.com, or Amazon.de, and you would be doing me a great favour if you would leave a review on the website you purchase it from. Don’t be afraid to be honest. They like that at Amazon, so they do. By the way, if you’re Irish, you have to buy it through Amazon.com, bizarrely.